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by Stuart Sierra

I am an artist. That is not a disclaimer or a boast; it is a statement of position. I believe in the undeniable importance of art and the futility of censorship. I also believe that art is one of the best indicators of the mood of a culture. Scholars, doctors, therapists, and lawyers can attempt to explain us to ourselves, but their testimony, while useful, will almost always be dry and lacking in emotional depth. I am proud to write in defense of a group that predates and outlasts all other professional analysts of the human condition-creators of art.

Chris Ofili is one member of this oft-abused group. His 1996 work,The Holy Virgin Mary, depicts the classic Christian icon with a nonrealistic black face above swirling, sequined green and blue patterns and one exposed breast composed of dried elephant dung. Cutouts of photographs of women's buttocks and genitals dot the background of the canvas. The disturbing elements of this piece are all based in ambivalence-the audience is not sure how to react. To begin with, the multiplicity of media, some of them quite unusual-sequins, oil, collage, and elephant dung-makes the piece a bit different from "traditional" visual works and thwarts our desire to categorize. Is it painting, sculpture, collage, garbage, or something else entirely? The title brings into play the most powerful set of cultural prejudices in the world, organized religion. Does Ofili honor the Virgin or defile her? The caricaturized African wide mouth and nose on a figure typically drawn as Caucasian offer a potential racial slur to blacks (the "Negro" caricature) or whites (the assumption that Mary was white). Finally, the juxtaposition of a mainstream religious icon and a serious art-museum context with two very marginalized elements of life, animal excrement and pornography, creates a shock that strikes at the very heart of America's quixotic relationship with "morality." At the cusp of a new century, America is, for the first time, reexamining the Christian-based moral values that have affected its laws in centuries past, and is not sure whether to hold to them or to replace them with some as-yet unknown system.

Surprisingly large groups on both the liberal and conservative sides of the debate fail to recognize the tremendous importance of art's exploration of moral/ethical issues in a civilized society, most of all because the best contemporary art of any period tends to make the inhabitants of that period a bit uncomfortable. This is precisely the point-art can highlight society's ambivalence. Unfortunately, the initial reaction to discomfort is to remove the source of that discomfort, so societies tend to outlaw things that make them uncomfortable. This creates a legal conundrum that Amy Adler describes with examples of Post-Modern art that "illustrates the chasm that has formed between contemporary artistic practice and legal theories of art [. . .] which purport to distinguish art from obscenity by relying on such standards as 'serious artistic value'" (6). She gives examples of performance artists such as Annie Sprinkle, who, by working in both art and pornography contexts, calls into question the distinction between the two; and Karen Finley, whose performances are shocking and graphic, although "many see her work as a powerfully subversive reading of female degradation in American society" (9). These and other artists have been censored, Adler believes, because they do not match the traditional ideals of art-such as the late Modernist insistence that "good art be pure, self-critical, original, sincere, and serious" (3)-that laws and cultural perceptions are based on. The categorization of The Holy Virgin Mary as Modernist, Post-Modernist, or otherwise is beyond the scope of my discussion, but the piece's untraditional media and representation of the Virgin certainly made several influential people, notably New York City Mayor Rudolf Giuliani, very uncomfortable. Mr. Giuliani needed only a black and white newsprint reproduction to deem the painting "sick" and antagonistic towards Catholicism, leading to serious attempts to evict the Brooklyn Museum of Art for placing it on temporary exhibit. The Catholic League was quite vocal. One elderly gentleman smuggled white oil paint into the museum so that he could deface the canvas. None noticed or cared that the artist is a Roman Catholic himself who publicly stated that his detractors were simply attacking their own interpretations of the piece.

The danger lies in allowing the discomfort art creates, the fear of the unknown within us, to rule our behavior before reason. When this occurs, the immediate result-an attempt to remove the discomfort by stifling a particularly creative individual-is unfortunate but, paradoxically, validates any offensiveness that might have been found in the work originally by proving its effectiveness. When police raid a Karen Finley performance or a man defaces a canvas, it is a sign that a significant portion of society is shocked by what the artist has done. This suggests that the artist has accurately hit a hot cultural nerve. I do not wish to imply that all good art must be shocking or that all shock art is good, simply that the reason for controversy surrounding shocking art is often the hidden, unpleasant truth it brings to light. The most revealing thing about a person is the immediate, gut reaction to a visual image. This is the therapy art offers for a society confused with its own nature.

The reason so many people violently objected to Ofili's work was that their reaction occurred on a visceral level. These powerful responses are quite unsettling to people who believe they are "objective" and above such trivial weakness. Lynda Nead deconstructs the impossible objectivity of the viewer by examining critical discourses on sexual elements of classical sculpture. "Throughout these texts, the strenuous efforts to contain the connotations of sexuality fail; the prose appears balanced on a knife-edge between legitimacy and becoming absorbed within obscenity" (214). The critics attempt to validate their study of the erotic or obscene for its artistic merit by looking only at form, ignoring or suppressing any physical reaction they may have. This constant self-monitoring leads not to a discussion of pure form but to a furtive preoccupation with the obscene in the mind of the supposedly objective expert or "connoisseur." There is a reason for this insecurity:

The definition of obscenity is as much concerned with the body of the viewer as with the body imaged. Two bodies are being judged. If the connoisseur is the one who knows, the judge of art, then the connoisseur's body has to be unimpeachable. The integrity of the connoisseur is the guarantee of the cultural worth of the object viewed. (221)

The connoisseur, by giving his impartial seal of approval on the artistic form within an obscene work, realizes that he is putting his expert status on the line. Similarly, a viewer who criticizes the morality of a work implies a superior moral position. Detractors of Ofili's piece face this problem; their denunciation of the painting implies that they possess the authority to be arbiters of cultural morality, placing their own morality under intense scrutiny. Therefore, according to Nead, "the judgment of art and obscenity turns out to be a judgment on the condition of viewing bodies" (224). By judging obscenity, the judges open themselves to challenges and reveal their prejudices.

The primary revelation from the exposure these judgments bring is one of prejudices of the viewer. Modern morality is based more on individual prejudices than on any practical notion of what is best for society. For example, Carl Stychin writes on the moral objections to a modern phenomenon, gay and lesbian visual art with a political edge:

The critics of arts funding for lesbian and gay visual culture assume without question that representations have a tremendous transformative potential which is sufficiently powerful to undermine the dominance of heterosexuality in American society. Moreover, visual culture is seen as having the power to erode "America" itself through the destruction of its traditional values. Proponents of these arguments implicitly accept both the social construction of sexuality and the nation state. (73)

These "traditional values" associate America with Christian moral judgments against homosexuality that, while ancient, are constructed. The critics simultaneously reveal their own prejudices against homosexuality and demonstrate that these prejudices arise out of their use of outdated constructions of sexuality and morality in America. Stychin, like Adler, refers to Karen Finley: "As Finley explicitly employs her body (including orifices) in her performances, her art frequently is seen as 'unnatural' and, consequently, she is read as being lesbian" (71). Finley has never publicly identified herself as a lesbian, but her perceived unnaturalness brands her as such in the eyes of her detractors, who use only themselves for a context of what is "normal." Their reasoning runs this way: Since homosexuals are in the minority and Finley's performances are so unique, unusual = homosexual. Furthermore, since public lewdness is deemed immoral and homosexuality is deemed immoral, lewdness = homosexual. This type of flawed associative reasoning weakens the credibility of these critics. Similarly, critics of The Holy Virgin Mary read it as anti-Catholic when, in fact, the artist is an avowed Roman Catholic. They see pornography as "obscene" and excrement as "obscene" and so reason that a portrait of the Virgin Mary which uses pornography and dung must be obscene and, therefore, blasphemous. They ignore any context other than their own; Ofili comes from a culture which celebrates fertility (symbolized by the pornographic cutouts) and rebirth (the fertilizing power of elephant dung, common in Ofili's other work). Whereas European culture tends to bury these aspects of humanity to remove all "impurity" from religious figures, Ofili removes the impurity from these aspects for the greater glory of humanity and God. These may or may not be Ofili's reasons for incorporating these elements, but all potential contexts must be considered, not just the ones closest at hand. Critics such as Mayor Giuliani reveal their narrow concentration on Western European cultural iconography and, in doing so, call into question their own respect for the minorities within that culture.

What, then, can a piece of disturbing art tell us? The revelations need not be embarrassing. If we feel upset or uncertain about a visual image, it is, in my view, wasteful merely to condemn it. Offense and even disgust can become enlightening when there is a patient analysis on both sides of an ambivalent art-viewer relationship. Kobena Mercer proposes

an approach to ambivalence, not as something that occurs "inside" the text (as if texts were hermetically sealed or self-sufficient), but as a complex "structure of feeling" experienced across the relations between authors, texts and readers-in relations that are always contingent, context-bound, and historically specific. (189)

Someone may take offense at a work of art such as The Holy Virgin Mary, but the offensiveness is not inherent in Ofili's "text." It exists in the roped-off space in the museum between art object and viewer. A different viewer in a different time or place might not be offended at all. Even the same viewer can develop very different readings of a text contingent on the analytical approach taken. Mercer himself makes an initial analysis of the black gay eroticism of Robert Mapplethorpe's photographic "texts" that, "regardless of the sexual preferences of the spectator, the connotation is that the 'essence' of black male identity lies in the domain of sexuality" (174). He is frankly offended. However, in a later revision of this statement, Mercer admits to having difficulty with Mapplethorpe's photographs since, as a black gay man, he identifies both with the fetishized object and the desiring subject (author) of the work. This recognition allows Mercer to learn about Mapplethorpe, himself, and the cultural context of gay male identity that they both share. Art can teach in this way.

Mercer also emphasizes, "I do not want a black gay critique to be appropriated to the purposes of the New Right's antidemocratic cultural offensive"(203). His initial reaction was to take offense at Mapplethorpe, but he wants to express that reaction in an environment where it will not be used to censor the work. This is a key point-only in such an environment can debate truly center on art and not on individual or collective prejudice. The classical scholars Nead studied feared the art they described would be seen only for its erotic appeal. Karen Finley commented on censorship, "There are artists right now who are changing their art because they are scared" (qtd. in Adler 9). The Holy Virgin Mary was so mired in controversy that almost no one took the time to evaluate its artistic form and content. In court, Mayor Giuliani insisted, "You do not have a right to a government subsidy to desecrate someone else's religion" (qtd. in Gershon 10). The argument was that taxpayers should not be forced to fund art that attacks their most deeply held personal beliefs. The museum worked on First Amendment grounds, such as the statement in Texas v. Johnson, "If there is a bedrock principle underlying the First Amendment, it is that the government may not prohibit the expression of an idea simply because society finds the idea itself offensive or disagreeable" (qtd. in Gershon 24). Despite the fact that it was publicly funded, the museum wished to act autonomously from society and government, describing any attempt by the city to control its exhibits as unlawful censorship. The debate centered on the rights of the Brooklyn Museum of Art, the rights of the American taxpayer, and the conceptualization of obscenity and blasphemy. Aesthetic ideas, such as the points I have raised here on the way Ofili looks at the Virgin in a light that is not necessarily blasphemous, were not part of the discourse. The art itself became irrelevant; this is one of the standing dangers of a litigious and self-righteous society.

My argument is based on the assertion that all art is, in some respects, performative; it necessitates a relationship between author and viewer. It is not reasonable to look at art in a vacuum without considering the context of authorship, nor is it possible to look at it objectively without a context of viewership. Both contexts come into play, and both must be patiently-and honestly-examined to determine what assumptions they make. In this examination, our reactions to a work of art, the ways in which we interpret it and our relationships with it, can reveal more than the work itself. I believe Chris Ofili does a favor for the Christian-dominated society of this country both by ferreting out the overly zealous religious bigots among us and by encouraging us to view a Western icon in a new way just as we are starting to shift away from dependence on what that icon represents. His Virgin does not necessarily detract from Christianity, it adds to its breadth. Our reactions allow us to learn about the limitations of our thought and, perhaps overcome them. There will always be closed minds, but I hope that their mistakes can make other minds a little more open.

Works Cited

Adler, Amy M. "Post-Modern Art and the Death of Obscenity Law." Yale Law Journal. April 1990: 1359-1378. Reprinted at lexis.com. 11 Dec. 2000 <http://www.lexis.com>. 1-20.

Gershon, United States District Judge. 99 CV 6071. The Brooklyn Institute of Arts and Sciences vs. Rudolph W. Giuliani. United States District Court, Eastern District Of New York. 28 Feb. 2001 <http://www.nyed.uscourts.gov/pub/ rulings/cv/1999/99cv6071.pdf>.

Mercer, Kobena. Welcome to the Jungle: New Positions in Black Cultural Studies. New York: Routledge, 1994. 171-220.

Nead, Lynda. "Bodies of Judgment: Art, Obscenity and the Connoisseur." Law and the Image. Ed. Costas Douzinas and Lynda Nead. Chicago UP, 1999. 203-225.

Stychin, Carl. "Promoting a Sexuality: Law and Lesbian and Gay Visual Culture in America." Law and the Senses. Ed. Lionel Bently and Leo Flynn. London: Pluto , 1996. 65-79.

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